trust (aka can't lose something you never had)
by SamisforSamurai
Summary: It's been almost a year they've spent together, and Francis desperately wants to know why Matthew still won't tell him he loves him. Matthew, meanwhile, thinks that Francis's past relationships can somehow prevent him from taking this one seriously, despite that Francis has been nothing but faithful and loving.


Valentine's Day: A day to show your significant other you love them!

Sweetheart feeling down? Pick them up some cake, a card, some flowers!

You shouldn't put a price tag on love, but she'll love this gift!

Sale! Chocolates and Boquets on sale now!

Don't forget to give your babe something for Valentines Day!

* * *

><p>Of all the days to be working at a bakery, this day was probably the worst for Francis. Any other year it would have been fine, wonderful even, but this year each and every one of the heart shaped balloons around the shop made Francis's own heart hurt. As they deflated throughout the day, so too did Francis's heart.<p>

While making pastries was one of his favorite past times, and while he loved his job, today he wanted to just go home. The cake he was icing seemed to have it out for him, too-it required a big red heart with icing roses filling it up, and Francis wasn't having an easy time of it.

If he had to deal with one more customer who gushed about their significant other today, Francis was pretty sure he'd end up sneaking off with sweet dough and eating himself sick.

And for what? Maybe he'd feel less awful if it was for something easily fixable. If the problem was that he was single or getting over a breakup, that would be one thing. He could just go for some drinks with Gilbert and Antonio, pick up someone at a bar.

But his problem was that he _was_ dating someone. He was in love with them, and they'd been dating for almost a year. They'd even moved in together.

Strictly speaking, things should have been on good terms.

The problem was that for Francis, the two of them seemed more like friends with benefits than lovers. And Matthew, his dear, sweet Matthew, kind as he was, seemed unlikely to change anything in the near future.

"Are you about done frosting that?" Antonio asked from behind the counter as he rang up the next customer.

Francis was startled out of his stupor. "Oh," was all he said as he looked at the mess of frosting under him. The red frosting had come out too much, it seemed, and the heart now looked a little more like a club-the roses didn't even look like flowers at this point. "It... I... Desole," he finally said, embarrassed. "I'll remake this, really, I just..."

Antonio gave him a sympathetic look. After he finished ringing up the last customer in the queue, he made his way to the counter Francis was working at. "You alright? You're usually in a good mood on Valentines Day..."

The mention of the holiday made Francis flinch, successfully getting more frosting on his hands. "I... It's just..." Oblivious, he ran a hand through his hair. Frosting got in it, and finally he just gave up and hung his head, frosting-coated fingers massaging his temples. "I don't know what to do anymore. Matthieu... Things aren't..."

As Francis trailed off, Antonio got a paper towel wet and coaxed Francis's hands away from his head. He slowly wiped off the gooey mess that was Francis's forehead, but his hair proved difficult. "Things aren't good?" Antonio filled in. "So he still hasn't said he loves you?"

Leave it to Antonio to say it so bluntly, Francis thought bitterly, looking down to the ground. "Oui. He still hasn't said it. It's been almost a year next month..."

"I'm sure it's not from malicious intent, Fran," Antonio said lightly, trying to sound cheerful. Even with such a hopeful tone though, Francis knew Antonio was just trying to make him feel better. "I don't think Matthew has a mean bone in his body."

"And that's the problem. If he doesn't say it, that means he probably doesn't, and... And I don't even know why he's with me. Maybe he's just too nice to break it off." Just saying it made Francis's stomach twist, and he found himself pulling Antonio into a tight hug.

Antonio sighed and patted him on the back. "Francis... How about you head home for the day? Gilbert and I can handle things here, especially when Roderich shows up for his shift in half an hour. You're not leaving that early anyways."

Francis started to protest, but then he remembered how poorly he'd ended up icing the cake and he nodded. "...If it's not too much trouble."

"You know it's not," Antonio said lightly, then patted Francis on the shoulder. "Now go home. Wash that frosting out of your hair. If you're not freaking out about red food dye in your hair then I know you really must be having a bad day, si?"

The mention of the red frosting in his hair seemed to snap Francis out of it, at least a little, and soon he was heading over to an unoccupied sink and working hard to get some of it out of his hair. After it was clear he would have to wash it out with shampoo, he grabbed his things and headed out the door.

* * *

><p>Maybe Francis deserved the disappointment coming home came with, because on the way over he'd let himself entertain the notion of Matthew greeting him with a kiss and a Valentine's Day card, or flowers, or chocolate-even an acknowledgment of the holiday.<p>

But true to their relationship, there was no such thing forthcoming. Matthew hardly even looked up from the book he was reading as Francis came in, and even then all he said was, "You're home early."

Francis nodded gruffly, running a hand through his hair. "I got food dye in my hair. Antonio sent me home so I could wash it out before it stained," he explained. The distracted frown on his face should have shown Matthew that he wasn't being very honest, but Matthew didn't challenge his statement, even if he looked apprehensive.

"Alright. If you want me to make dinner, I will," the Canadian replied, going back to his book after a tense moment of indecision.

Though the offer was tempting, there was a knot in Francis' stomach. "Ah... Non, it's alright. I'm not feeling very hungry tonight."

"You can't just not eat," Matthew said. "I'm gonna make some pancakes or something, okay? It's not heavy or anything, so it should be fine."

Maybe it was Matt's way of acknowledging Francis's vanity problem, but he was always very particular about Francis eating enough. It was also one of the few things that let Francis believe, even for a moment, that Matthew really cared. After a day of feeling a bit like a deflated balloon, Francis was ready to cling to anything Matthew gave him. So, after a moment's hesitation (why did it hurt for Matthew to care?), Francis nodded. "Alright, alright, if you're sure. I should be out in maybe half an hour. It's been a long day."

With that, Francis moved to the shower, and Matthew went back to reading, presumably to waste some time so the pancakes would be hot when Francis got out.

* * *

><p>The shower had taken more like twenty minutes, but considering he refused to leave the bathroom without blowdrying and fixing up his hair, it took closer to forty minutes in all. Normally at home he felt he could relax about his appearance at least a bit, but tonight he wasn't feeling as comfortable in his skin as usual.<p>

So he made sure his hair looked perfect and spent too long moisturizing his face and neck and upper arms, and it took some close scrutiny to decide whether or not he was feeling confident enough to wear his usual tight clothing.

Ironic as it was, for all of Francis's feminine beauty routines, he seemed awfully concerned about whether or not his hips were getting rounder from working around food most of the day.

But there wasn't much he could do about that. There were bigger concerns on his mind right now, anyways, so after throwing on slightly more comfortable clothing, he went back downstairs.

However, his stomach had gotten itself into quite the twist by the time he was close enough to the kitchen to see Matthew. While it smelled good as ever, he was tense and felt a bit too withdrawn to invite himself any closer to Matt.

If he were to hug Matthew from behind or help him finish cooking, would Matt really want that? Or would he just put up with it because it was convenient or because he didn't want to hurt Francis's feelings?

The questions put a preoccupied frown onto Francis's face, and he examined the tiles beneath his feet.

If he told Matthew how he was feeling, how would he even react?

If Matthew decided to leave, should Francis prefer that so he could finally have enough distance to move on? Or would it hurt too much to break things off after a year?

Why hadn't Matthew chosen to break things off earlier?

The last question was full of answers that Francis really didn't want to hear. The false hope of 'Maybe he really does love you but doesn't know how to show you,' versus the harsher, more realistic side: 'He was too nice to say no.'

Contrary to popular belief, Matthew really did know how to say no. It's just that he preferred being polite, and if it was something he could do, he normally ended up doing it.

Logically, Francis was sure that Matthew meant it when he'd said he liked him, back when they were tentatively going out. When they'd become exclusive, it had been Matthew to propose the idea, though he'd never explained why he wanted that so suddenly.

But after that... Had Matthew really wanted him? When he'd moved into Francis's apartment on Francis's suggestion, had he only gone because he felt forced?

Francis had tried to be as non pressuring as possible, but... Maybe it hadn't been enough? Matthew was shy sometimes, and sometimes he had trouble explaining what he wanted.

Were Francis's attempts enough?

His shoulders slumped, and had he been looking at himself, he likely would have seen himself as the picture of depression. It didn't quite fit with his character. After all, he was known for being friendly and flirtatious, a reputation he'd had since his teen years, far before he'd been successful with any of his flirtations. It probably wasn't a good thing, but his first time had been with a girl who thought he was already quite experienced. Francis had gone along with it, and in the end it simply increased his reputation.

It was nothing he was ashamed of, though. Maybe Matthew was intimidated?

Yet, Matthew had been with other people before Francis. Not many, granted. But there had certainly been a few. A childhood best friend who he'd experimented with since they were most comfortable with each other, a transfer student from Cuba in high school, a few fellow hockey players... It was enough that Francis wasn't uncomfortable with his reputation.

After all, he'd been with Matthew longer than he'd been with anyone else, and that was the same for Matthew as well. In that, he supposed they were on equal grounds.

But, did Matthew see it that way?

As his thoughts grew steadily more disjointed, Francis found himself walking forward just enough to step foot in the kitchen. His footsteps were just enough to alert Matthew of his arrival, and the Canadian looked at him over his shoulder.

"There you are," Matthew said. "This is almost ready, so good timing, eh? 'Bout time you got in here. Were you, uh, planning on going out somewhere tonight though?" For a moment, Francis let himself hope that Matthew was talking about going on a date for Valentine's Day, and that he'd remembered after all, but then Matthew continued: "You look pretty dressed up, so did Antonio and Gil invite you for drinks? I know it's Friday, so..."

Francis glanced down at himself, having nearly forgotten he'd dressed up a bit better. For all the good dressing confidently had done him in the bedroom, it seemed a little pointless if he'd forgotten as soon as he stepped downstairs. "Oh. No, I just wanted to look nice tonight."

Matthew had been with him long enough to pick on some of his mannerisms. Dressing nicely to make up for feeling unconfident seemed to be one of them, but despite his attire and how withdrawn Francis was acting, he seemed reluctant to comment on it. "Well, alright then. Sit down, okay? I'll serve you right up."

As Matthew got back to the stovetop, Francis made his way to the little table they usually shared. Once Matthew's back was turned, Francis rested his head in his hands, effectively mussing his hair. Soon afterwards, a plate was set in front of the Frenchman, and Matthew took hold of Francis's hand just long enough to press a fork into it.

"I know you said you weren't very hungry but... You really oughta eat something, okay?"

Matthew's voice had an almost tender tone to it, and he pressed a quick kiss to the top of Francis's head. Instantly Francis felt guilty for thinking anything less than wonderful about his boyfriend. And yet, he felt no more compelled to talk to him about his worries than before.

Idly, Francis wondered if Matthew would be upset with him if he knew what Francis was thinking, and how anxious he felt about all of this.

"I will, mon cher," Francis assured him after a brief hesitation. Even with most of the work of picking up the fork and eating done for him-he hadn't even had to pick up his fork himself-Francis was feeling entirely too tired to be hungry. The nervous knot in his stomach wasn't helping, either.

It took quite some time and a bit more prodding from Matthew, but finally Francis finished and took his plate to the sink.

As he was scrubbing, his mind traveled back to now familiar territory. Before he could get too far from normal, though, Matthew sidled up next to him. A hand found Francis's hip and gripped it ever so slightly before letting go. It seemed that Matthew had come more to help with the dishes than to coddle Francis though, so Francis resigned himself to working on washing up quick as he could.

The faint touch to his hip had made him feel ever so slightly better though, and he leaned slightly on his lover for a moment, silently asking for more touch.

"Not now, Francis. My hands are soapy," Matthew replied immediately, picking up on Francis's cues but utterly unwilling to give in at the moment. He seemed frustrated for some reason, and Francis wondered if he'd done something wrong.

Francis backed up immediately, feeling rather embarrassed for asking for such a thing. "Ah. My ... apologies, mon cocotte. I shouldn't 'ave..."

Seemingly confused, Matthew glanced over at him. "Oh, no, no, don't apologize. I just-sorry. I was just doing the dishes and trying to help, I'm just not that interested in doing that until we're done here."

When the reassurance didn't lift Francis's spirits like usual, Matthew looked hard pressed to make him feel better. "You said you had a bad day, right? Um, how about I bake up something sweet and we can ... I don't know, just cuddle for a while?"

It was pretty tempting, and as Francis finished up the last of the dishes, he couldn't help but attempt a smile for Matthew's sake. "That would be nice. Thank you."

Matthew nodded and pressed a quick kiss to his slightly shorter boyfriend's temple. "Mmhm."

"Non, really. Thank you, Mathieu. I... I appreciate it very much. Je t'aime." The words slipped out before Francis could stop them, and it seemed they'd done more harm than good, because Matthew immediately froze up, hands stilling under the water he was washing them in.

"...Yeah, eh, anyhow, let's get started on those um. Sweets," Matthew said after a moment, voice sounding pretty forced.

Francis's hands tensed at his side, and he finally turned away. There was a rare heat behind his eyes, and he knew he'd be pouring out hot, angry tears if he stayed much longer. "I... I'm really not hungry for that sort of thing. I think I shouldn't 'ave eaten so much at dinner. If you'll excuse me-"

Just as he was turning to go, Matthew caught his wrist. "Hey, don't just leave, please? Obviously you're upset about something. You've been in a bad mood all night, so it's not just because of what I just said."

But, there was the gap in their perspectives. Francis had been in a bad mood for that particular reason, because Matthew had never, not once, even said 'I love you, too,' let alone initiating it himself.

Francis didn't want to pull away from Matthew's grip because it'd probably end up hurting both of them, so he calmly, if a bit darkly, said, "Let go." His vision was blurring from the tears starting to swim in his eyes now, and he tried to blink them away while he was still turned away from Matthew.

"Not until you tell me what's going on," Matthew replied, voice just as tense.

The tears were closer to the surface now, and not wanting them to roll down his cheeks, Francis used his free hand to wipe them away. "It's ridiculous, and I'm not going to let you see me cry for something like this. I'd look horrible, and for what?"

To his credit, Matthew's grip turned more gentle and he carefully pulled Francis back towards him, just a bit. "I don't care how you look, Francis," he said, frowning. "It's not like I'm dating you just for looks or something. There's plenty m-"

"What _are_ you dating me for then, Mathieu?" Francis snapped, effectively cutting off the end of Matthew's sentence. "You've given me no explanation since we started and you won't... You're alright moving in with me, yet for the important things, you won't...?"

Matthew looked confused, and for good reason. Francis had cut himself off from saying anything that was a dead giveaway, so Matthew was as lost as before. "I'm... Francis, I'm with you because I like you, you idiot."

It wasn't enough. "I don't care if you _like_ me or not," Francis said, properly turning towards him, arm pulling out of Matthew's grip. "You like me, Alfred likes me, Ivan likes me, Arthur likes me, half my customers 'like' me. That isn't what living together-that isn't what being lovers is about! I don't care if you like me, I want you to love me, like I've loved you all this time!"

Such an outburst left an echo through the kitchen, and Francis was left panting. Finally he just shook his head and left, leaving a stunned Matthew in his wake.

* * *

><p>Now that Francis had voiced his chief concern, it was like he couldn't get the little things out of his head. The little things that, on their own might have been harmless by themselves, were poisonous all together, especially with such a strong underlying issue connecting them.<p>

Matthew's reluctance to accept gifts from Francis last Christmas. Matthew's hesitation to open up to him on what he was thinking. Matthew's near panic when Francis had, even jokingly, brought up married life. Matthew's refusal to call it making love.

That last one had probably hurt the worst of all the 'little' things.

Francis poured his heart out to Matthew and, in everything, tried to show him all the love he had. That spilled over to when they were making love, and yet in the wake of it, Matthew would refer to it as merely sex even after Francis would pointedly call it making love.

To someone as affectionate and physical as Francis, it always felt like his stomach had dropped out from under him when Matthew was left seemingly unsatisfied. Sure, Matthew might be physically satisfied, but emotionally...

Francis wanted to make him feel as happy emotionally and physically as Matthew made him-perhaps more so, because with love, Francis always wanted to give more than he got.

But there came a point, and this seemed to be it, where giving more than he got was too painful. If he gave a river, he'd get a trickle back, and it felt like it was just leaving him drained.

Sometimes Matthew would do things for him, like make him breakfast or dinner, or wash his laundry for him, or help him with even the chores Francis was responsible for that week.

But Francis was often just left frustrated by that, because did Matthew see them as lovers, or did he simply pride himself on being a particularly considerate roommate?

As he contemplated these, Francis laid on their bed, face buried into a pillow. He didn't care whose it was at this point, and he didn't care if he'd end up with a wet pillow tonight. All he wanted was to sleep for the rest of the week. Obviously Matthew didn't care. He wouldn't say 'I love you,' would back down at any question of commitment, and it raised too many questions for Francis.

Though some might call the words overused, they were important to Francis in a way nothing else was. After all, if even the lovers he'd had in the past hadn't meant them, what did it mean when Matthew, the man he'd loved more than any of them and had been with longest, wouldn't say them?

Did that mean Matthew truly cared about him less than any of them?

The notion sent a fresh hurt to those open wounds of his, and he curled up tighter around the pillow. Surely his hair was a mess by now, and his face was blotchy and red-but what was the point of appearances if Matthew didn't care?

He'd said that he wasn't with him for appearances, but what else was there that Matthew wanted? He wasn't interested in Francis's words, was often made uncomfortable at any grandiose gesture, and seemed indifferent to any other romantic gesture he made. Sure, Matthew might be interested in him for his personality, but if it was for personality alone, they'd be just friends. If they were to be something more, there had to be romantic interest, and yet Matthew had no interest in any romance Francis tried for.

And... If Matthew was truly uninterested in him in such a manner, Francis knew they needed to separate. It hurt even to think about, because the crux of the issue was that Francis loved Matthew-practically adored him. It was just that Matthew never seemed to share the feeling. Francis knew he couldn't go on much longer pouring his heart out into someone who didn't feel the same, who might never feel the same.

The only healthy thing to do, then, would be to leave.

Just as he'd decided on the notion, though, he felt a hand on his upper arm, smoothing across the bare skin from his shoulder to his elbow.

"Francis," he heard softly behind him.

Matthew must have snuck in undetected, inaudible against Francis's sobs.

God, Francis hated crying. It had been a long time since he'd properly cried. Crying out from fear, from happiness, and feeling himself tear up from them was no real feat. But from frustration and genuine hurt... That was much rarer.

The last time he'd felt like this was a few relationships ago, when a lover broke up with him because they'd been messing around with someone else. It wouldn't have been as bad if it had been just that, but they'd been convinced that Francis saw other people behind their back, so it excused their behavior.

Francis hadn't been seeing anyone else.

Flirtatious though he was, cheating wasn't in his repertoire.

"Francis, sweetheart," he heard from behind him, the gentle touch along his upper arm continuing. "You can't just say that and leave. I... I'm... I think we both need to set a few things straight."

Francis pulled the pillow closer against his face, then felt Matthew trying to tug it away.

"Leave it," Francis said, voice croaking horribly. "Please. I don't... You don't need to see me like this."

"I already said I don't care how you look. You're upset-you don't need to care so much about your looks around me, Francis." Matthew almost sounded hurt, but he didn't stop trying to pull the cushion away.

Francis held it all the more possessively. "I care about how I look. This isn't about how you see me, Mathieu. It's about how I want to present myself."

"Bullshit." It was rare that his Matthew would curse anywhere outside a hockey rink, but it was oddly appropriate given the situation, Francis thought. "No offense, but you get borderline OCD about how you look when you're upset. That's not normal." He paused, then, "Why do you do it?"

The truth? Somewhere between trying to fake confidence until it was real, and... The part he was less honest with himself about, that he wanted to still be seen as something valuable even when his emotions and personality were a mess.

It probably came from past lovers who only seemed interested when he was as attractive in the morning as he'd been the night before.

"It doesn't matter," Francis said. But no sooner than the words had left his mouth did Matthew successfully steal the pillow. Instantly, Francis's hands went to cover his face, trying to hide the blotchy red skin, the red rimmed eyes, the trembling lips.

Matthew gently shifted him onto his back, then lowered his hands from his face. "Obviously it matters, if you get this worked up."

A sob escaped Francis no matter how hard he tried to contain it. "Please, just leave me alone until I can-"

"No." Matthew lowered his head slowly, until he could press a soft kiss against Francis's forehead. "I'm staying. I'm staying until you feel up to talking again. Because that's what you do... That's what you do when you're with someone."

For a split second, Francis had thought Matthew was about to say 'because that's what you do when you love someone.' But Matthew chose his words carefully, and it just ended up upsetting Francis more.

His face took on just a hint more anger than before, and he pushed Matthew away enough to get up and make his way into the bathroom. Matthew, still recovering from any type of roughness from the normally delicate Francis, watched mutely as the Frenchman resolutely entered the washroom and splashed water on his face.

The door remained open largely because Francis knew he'd won enough for Matthew not to follow until he was finished.

When he looked back up at his face in the mirror, Francis scowled and turned away, drying his face more. His hair was a mess, too-almost more than it had been when he'd walked home with red frosting in his hair. It was flat on one side where he'd laid on his side on the bed, and water had wetted a few parts towards the front from when he'd washed his face. Frustrated, he tied it back into a low ponytail, hating that even that didn't quite cure him of his unglamorousness tonight.

When he finally looked back into the bedroom, Matthew was seated on the edge of the bed facing the bathroom, looking quizzically at Francis.

"You ready to talk now?" Matthew asked. "I'm, uh, here whenever?"

Francis leveled an almost glare at his boyfriend, but nonetheless took a seat on the bed. He ended up pretty far away from Matthew, but as much as he wanted to just curl up with Matthew and sleep, he wanted space more.

"I'm ready to talk if you're ready to listen."

The words, as with before, left silence behind. But Francis wasn't going to give in so easily this time, so he waited until Matthew finally nodded to start talking.

"I'm not willing to stay with someone if that someone doesn't love me. I think I made that clear in the kitchen. I'm in love with you, Matthew. I've been falling more and more in love with you since we've been together." The words might have seemed romantic if they weren't said during such an intense argument. Francis looked away, wishing this wasn't the first time he'd been so clear with his affections. "You don't respond when I tell you I love you, and you don't initiate it yourself. You get uncomfortable when I bring up us having a future together. For god's sake, you won't even call what we do 'making love' you're so against loving me as I've loved you. I have nothing against you not loving me. I... Even if it hurts, I can move on eventually, if you were to leave me. But you refuse to leave me. So all I am allowed to feel is love for you, and yet there is nothing coming back."

Francis had evidently said his peace for now, but Matthew was left silent, apparently digesting that much honesty all at once.

Nearly a minute passed in silence and Francis was about to get up and start gathering his things before Matthew finally sighed then started speaking.

"Francis... Exactly how serious are you about us?" Matthew asked, tentatively reaching for Francis's hand.

As the question and the gesture didn't seem to match up-one proposing Matthew was to leave, the other saying he'd stay-Francis didn't give him his hand. "More seriously than you, it seems."

Matthew looked a bit hurt, but didn't refute that immediately. "I... I admit I was reluctant when we started dating. I liked you. That much was pretty clear. Is pretty clear still, I hope." Francis was about to reply that, again, he wasn't interested in being just 'liked' at this point, but Matthew continued before he could interject. "But you had a bit of a reputation. I didn't want to get involved if you weren't going to be serious about this."

Francis had a face stunned enough that it looked like he'd been slapped. Then came the realization, and things fell into place. "You thought I'd cheat on you," he summarized, a hurt look coming onto his face before he could regain his composure.

It had flashed over his face just long enough for Matthew to notice it, and he quickly tried to backtrack. "I-Francis, not like that. Not like that exactly, I promise. I didn't think you'd cheat, I just-What was I supposed to expect? Everyone said you couldn't stay for one person for long-"

"A year, Mathieu. A year." The Frenchman cut him off. "This is the longest I've been with someone, it's true, but I think that says something about how I feel about you. This is the longest I have been with anyone, and it's with you. I believe you said recently this is the longest you've been with someone else either, didn't you?"

Matthew winced. "Francis, I didn't say it was a smart thing for me to think-"

"You don't think I've proven myself after a year? Or did you think I was willing to string someone along for a year? Just for sex? For financial security? What did you think I had to gain from just stringing someone I didn't love along for a year? Haven't I proven myself now?! Yet you still won't say it!" His voice cracked on 'say', and Francis became aware of the tears that had gathered and started to spill over throughout his rant.

The room became quiet again, and though Francis initially resisted, Matthew pulled him close. Francis hated that he felt comfortable within Matthew's embrace still, but even knowing all of this, he couldn't stop loving Matt.

He just wished that the same loyalty was awarded to him.

Finally Francis's voice became steadier, though he didn't come out from Matthew's chest, so it was a bit muffled. "Before you, a girl thought the same. She dated someone else for months because she thought I was doing the same. I thought you were different, Mathieu." His fingers dug into the Canadian's shirt, pressing against muscles that tensed at the statement.

"Hey, that's not fair. I didn't cheat, Francis-"

"But you had the exact same rationale for not taking me seriously. If you... Have anything more to say for yourself, I'd appreciate it." _Please, please say something that will fix this. I want to stay with you. _"Please."

Matthew gently ran a hand through Francis's hair. "I didn't want to commit. I was scared that you'd realize you wanted someone else who was better than... this. I shouldn't have underestimated you-that much is obvious now. But I was terrified of this going bad, Francis."

"But you were the one who asked for us to be exclus..." As he was saying it, though, the pieces fell into place. "You thought I was seeing other people while we were dating, so you wanted to make it clear that it was... And here I thought you were just following more ... old fashioned standards."

Matthew held Francis tighter for a moment, then leaned back so he could see Francis's face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Francis. I so underestimated you. I'm sorry. I don't know how to fix this."

"I have an idea," Francis said, relaxing ever so slightly as Matthew wiped the tears under his eyes with his thumbs. "You could finally commit."

"Commit?" Matthew filled in. "I... um. Don't... I'm not really ready to get married if that's what you're-"

"I love you," Francis said. And even despite the conversation they'd just had, there was a defeated look in his eyes.

Matthew probably wouldn't say it back, even now. Matthew probably would just kiss him on the forehead and change the subject like always. Matthew probably would sigh and shake his head and say they weren't going to work out anyways. Matthew probably wouldn't...

"I love you, too," Matthew said quietly, then cupped Francis's cheek and kissed him, and the despondent white noise in Francis's head vanished.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, they were lying together under the covers, with Matthew's hand gliding over Francis's hip and upper thigh. While Francis's eyes were still a bit red, the blotchiness in his cheeks had vanished, and most importantly, there was a smile on his face.<p>

"So, you and Carlos...?" Francis asked, leaning close enough to steal a kiss.

Matthew snorted. "Not a chance. We were together for a month or two before he told me he was pretty sure he was straight. All of it for nothing, basically."

"That's a shame. I hope you didn't think you turned him straight or something, cher," Francis sympathized, eyes soft on his lover's face.

Fortunately, Matthew just laughed and kissed the top of his slightly shorter lover's head. "Nah. I figured he just went out with me because we were good friends and he wasn't sure whether or not it'd last if he said no. Sort of the opposite of what most people assume, but uh, yeah. Interesting situation. We still talk, sometimes, but it's not really that often."

"Sounds like me and some of my past lovers," Francis agreed. "I've hooked up with Gilbert and Antonio in the past, but I doubt they count since we were close friends beforehand. Ones like Arthur, though..." He laughed a little. "That is an interesting situation, too. Mm. I'm just glad I haven't had any... eh, crazy exes. And that they are indeed all exes now. I imagine without them I wouldn't 'ave you, correct...?"

Matthew smiled just a tad. "Correct."

The conversation died down in favor of Francis pressing soft kisses against Francis's collarbone and Matthew taking Francis's hair out of the ribbon in order to run his fingers through it.

Francis scooted forward close enough to press his chest against Matthew's, though the hand on his hip remained in place, now sliding just a bit further behind rather than on his side, and Francis pulled a face. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Matthew asked, grinning as he pulled Francis into a slightly deeper kiss. "I think your hips are pretty cute."

"I disagree."

"I disagree with your disagreement."

Francis rolled his eyes and got a little more comfortable facing him. "Per'aps I wouldn't 'ave them if I didn't work at a place surrounded by sweets all day and then come home to you making me eat."

"It's more important to eat than look fashionable," Matthew said sternly, hands more possessively gripping Francis's hip.

Francis looked over his face for a moment, then seemed to come to a realization. "So that's what you mean every time you make me eat dinner," he mused. "I can promise you, though, I'd never skip meals just to be thinner."

His promise seemed to relax Matthew, and the Canadian nodded his approval. "Alright, if you promise," he said, giving Francis's hip one more squeeze before going back to simply tracing up and down his side.

Idly, Francis wondered if maybe there had been a few ways Matthew was saying 'I love you' all along. But like languages, something had gotten lost in translation. He decided not to think too hard on it and instead simply let himself enjoy the time right here, right now, with Matthew lying next to him, reassuring him that he loved him in little ways like these.

Converstion died again for a bit, mostly because Matthew seemed to be lost in thought, eyes soft as he watched over his boyfriend. Francis returned the look with just a hint of a smile. They shared a few kisses once more, before Matthew abruptly pulled away, an "Oh!" on his lips.

"What is it?" Francis asked, seemingly nonplussed at having a kiss broken in such a way.

"I just remembered. Happy Valentines Day."

Matthew would probably never know why Francis started laughing.


End file.
